Warmth
by nxgmobblepot
Summary: Baz reflects on what he perceives warmth and comfort to be, as well as the depth of his and Simon's relationship.


**Hey guys! It's been a hot second since I last uploaded a story, but like my last, this is a snowbaz onseshot. Please enjoy, and if you get the chance, leave a review. It really motivates me to write more, and not only that, but it also boosts my confidence and is always well appreciated. With that said, enjoy!**

Warmth. It is, to me, the color orange, with a soft red core and yellow radiation. It is playing my violin and the library at home and smelling Daphne's freshly baked cookies as they cool down the hall. It is falling into my wide open, beyond comfortable bed after a long day.

Warmth. It is not the scent of the dry, bitter scones they offer at Watford, nor the feeling of uncomfortably tailored school clothes. The sound of silence is not fitting, as it murders my delectation and paints me until I'm feeling melancholy. And blue, it could never be a sign of hospitality.

Well, it _was_ , and it _was_ not, would be the more truthful way of putting things. These days, at least.

Simon Snow and I are on another plane. Quite literally, actually, given he's taken us back into outer space. He found a way to bring pillows along with us this time, but one— _his_ —floated off into the stars. Both our heads are resting on mine now.

We are on a figurative plane as well, one of which I may prefer more. Describing it immensely would take away from its desirability. Minor details, words, simple phrases, though? They fit together like panels of an aesthetic. Perfect and precise.

Kisses, cuddling, exchanging looks from across the dining hall when no one's looking. Refusing to partner up with our classmates during group projects to ensure that we'll be assigned to work together, walks through the wood at night, taking showers together and shampooing each other's hair.

My relationship with Snow is nothing near sexual. We kiss and touch and we have, in fact, stripped each other down, but we're oh-so casual about it. I think that's what I've been looking for, ultimately. A strong relationship with a boy whom I can rely on to love me unconditionally and not want me only for my body; though, Simon _does_ love me body, he claims it's proof of God's existence.

The only complicated part of this heaven is that we aren't officially together. He never asked me to be his boyfriend, nor did I propose to him. We call each other pet names nonetheless. I would rather us be dating, though. If we were, I would finally feel comfortable letting Dev and Niall in on everything. We could move to sit with Simon and Bunce during mealtime. Our affection wouldn't have to be shared only behind closed doors; we could go public. Above all, I would finally be able to call him mine.

I suppose that as long as he'll allow me to be this close to him, it doesn't matter what we are.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Simon yawns, eyes lingering on the constellations he's connecting.

I blush and bite my lip. "Nothing too important," I fabricate.

"Everything that goes on in your pretty little head is important, Basilton."

We turn our heads in synch, eyes instantly meeting. His are brighter than the stars around us, softer, sweeter. I want to swim in them and their blue currents.

"Talk to me," Simon says.

"Ask me something," I suggest, tiresome.

Simon ponders, and it's terrifying how noticeable it is. On the rare occasion that he does think—because he most never does, as much as that seems impossible, to just not think—he carries a grim expression that never once appears at any other point in time. It's like watching a man transition into his werewolf form in an old, cheap horror film.

"What's your biggest fear?" He asks softly.

I let out a soft puff of air, amused, and smirk. "I don't know, fire?"

He shakes his head. "I'm serious. It's something I've always wondered, and recently, it's been getting to me." Snow hands me one of his infamous shrugs and expects me to run off with it. I don't.

Without letting go of his hand, I sit up and cross my legs. My head falls in a bow. "You're asking a complicated question, Snow," I whisper.

"Try me."

Always a fan of a challenge, I put up no fight. Give or take a few moments I use to muster up the words to explain myself, of course.

His empty hand is stroking my back up and down in smooth, comforting motions as I turn my head to glance at him over my shoulder. Simon looks like an angel, laying there amongst the stars. He falls to hide that smile he's attempting to kill off; I see it, and it brings a similar expression to my own face.

"You," I answer at last, my voice a mixture of relief and apprehension.

"Me?" Simon chuckles. He tugs on my arm and pulls me down to lay beside him. My head falls on his shoulder, soft and light. "Why me? Because I might break up with you and leave you stranded in a sea of stars? Don't be cheesy, Basilton."

I tilt my head upwards. His perfectly structed jawline is fixated in my view, making its way to carve a face of pure, undeniable grace. I graze the tips of my fingers across his smooth cheek, brushing over the freckles that gather. He has a mole on his neck that I nestle my nose into as I breathe in his heavy scent of ash and smoke.

"I'm scared that one day," I start in a hushed voice, "you'll look in the mirror and see yourself as I see you. On that day, you will realize just how amazing you are, and you'll finally get a hold of the fact that you not only could do better, but that you _deserve_ better than me."

Simon's chin juts forward, his jaw dropped and hanging open slightly as he takes in my declaration. I put a hand on either side of my lover's body and loom over him. Our eyes meet and lock. A loose strand of my dark hair falls from the bun I had it tugged into.

"I'm fucking terrified that you're going to leave me," I gasp. A wave of breathlessness has taken over, leaving me to flounder. Fortunately, Snow is in no better position himself.

"You don't have to be afraid of that." Simon withdraws his magic slowly, taking away what once felt it belonged to me. the burning sensation leaves to bursts—first my legs are cold, then my hips and torso, shoulders, moving inward until the buzz is a distant memory humming in my fingertips.

We're in our room now, positions left unchanged as the setting unfolds around us. Simon curves with his mattress, I paw at the sheets.

"Why would I leave the chosen one?" A yawn bursts out of his wide, stretching mouth. I want to kiss those scone flavored lips of his.

"I'm not the chosen one, my love. That would be you."

"You are in my book." Simon holds himself up by an elbow to watch me move across the room. "I chose you, and I'll continue choosing you until the day I die."

I send a flirtatious smirk his way. "Chose me, hm?" I grab the first pair of pajama bottoms I see when I open my dresser, resulting in me exchanging my black dress pants for green, silk. Simon tries not to stare at me as I undress, and I pretend not to notice.

He stands up and makes his way towards me. "To be my boyfriend, yes." His hands are on my chest—now bare, after changing from my school uniform into sleepwear. Snow likes it better when I sleep without a shirt, that much has been made clear. _"It makes laying on your chest easier,"_ he'll say. I've recently taken to saving him the trouble of taking it off every night in bed; a gesture he seems to appreciate.

"I'm not your boyfriend." I put my hands on his hips and pull him closer.

A deep frown tugs Simon's lips into a pout. "Why not?" He traces gentle lines across my collarbone.

It's my turn to dish out a shrug. "You never asked me to be," I state simply, earning a laugh from Simon.

"So, what, now we have to be traditional lovers? Asking each other out in spontaneous gestures?" Simon spins us around and pushes me against my dresser. His fingers comb through my hair, ruffling it up. The hair tie I'd previously been wearing falls to the floor.

I no longer feel as alone and cold as I once did, I realize. This bedroom used to be a place of hell, where I would watch the love of my life live without me, despite me always being five steps behind. I never could shake the feeling that he was trying to taunt me when he came out of the bathroom after a shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do, had he known the way I felt for him back at the start.

But here we are now, breathing the same warm, heavy air, wrapped in each other's arms. Simon fucking Snow is teasing me as he leans in with parted lips, then pulling back just be for our kiss is sealed. I am warm here, feeling fulfilled and pleasant.

"Doesn't have to be spontaneous," I murmur, "All you have to do is ask me."

Simon smiles up at me. His hands travel down my arms and halt at my hands. Our fingers lace together perfectly. "Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch," he starts, his eyes staring intently into my own, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

"'Your boyfriend' my ass." I pull him in for a hug. "I'm gonna be your everything, Simon Snow." I kiss the crown of his head, just as a smile lifts onto his face. I can feel his lips move against my neck, where he's nestled into me. "And we'll be in love for the rest of our lives.

Warmth. It is, to me, the color blue, simple but elegant, lined with darker shades, dotted with paler. It is listening to Simon Snow ramble on about this and that, as we lay beside each other beneath the yew trees, eating scones that've gone soft and tea that's now cold. It is the smell of his body first thing in the morning, the feel of his soft body curled against mine.

Warmth. It is, no longer the color orange, with a soft red core and yellow radiation. It isn't playing my violin and the library at home and smelling Daphne's freshly baked cookies as they cool down the hall. It is no longer falling into my wide open, beyond comfortable bed after a long day.

Simon Snow may not be good with a wand, but he's gifted in turning what _was_ , into what _was not._


End file.
